


Your Urgent Attention is Required

by Page161of180



Series: The Monster Requires [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Monster POV, manipulative!Monster, post-4x06, suffering!Eliot, suffering!Quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 15:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Page161of180/pseuds/Page161of180
Summary: “In the body that Eliot--” Better that time, but still sour. “--killed. Mike. There was something else using Mike’s body. But Eliot--”Oh .“-- didn’t mind. He liked it.”He liked it in the bodies way. The way that The Body liked Quentin and Quentin liked The Body, sometimes, but pretended that he didn’t.OhhHhh .He slipped forward in the chair and now he was close enough for The Body to feel Quentin and for Quentin to feel The Body, close enough for the long edges of its sweater to fall against Quentin’s jeans.“Should I have done it that way?” he asked.On the eternal quest for Quentin's attention, The Monster stumbles upon a new approach.





	Your Urgent Attention is Required

**Author's Note:**

> I deeply regret to inform you that this is Monster POV, so please be prepared for references to canon-typical violence and animal cruelty, drugs, emotional manipulation, Eliot-hatred, extreme self-involvement, and an altogether unhealthy fixation with one Quentin Coldwater. This fiction exists based on the assumption that The Monster has access to Eliot's memories, because canon hasn't explicitly told me that he doesn't. While we're on the subject of memories, please be warned that this fiction involves memories of late-season-one Eliot, and all that that entails (including the way that Quentin responded--or didn't--to Eliot's tailspin). Also be warned that The Monster *does* find and attempt to prey on memories of Quentin's feelings for Eliot. For those who would prefer a more detailed warning on that last point, please see end notes.
> 
> I either regret all of this or none of it. It's definitely one of the two.

 

 

It was all taking far too long and he was  _ bored _ . 

 

He had told Quentin that he wouldn’t give The Body more pills, so now there was nothing to make things less boring except for the white powder that he snorted in the bathroom when Quentin thought he was letting The Body do all of its tedious peeing and pooping business. It was fine; The Body was used to the powder. He didn’t take enough to make its heart explode and Quentin wouldn’t ever know, so it was fine. Quentin was being his friend again (mostly), but he wasn’t  _ looking  _ and that was boring, too. 

 

That was the  _ most  _ boring. 

 

He let The Body fall forward across the table. Its arms were so long and one flopped onto the book in front of Quentin. Quentin threw his own arms--short,  _ weak _ \--up into the air. 

 

Quentin never got impatient with him, before. It had been . . . a miscalculation, perhaps, telling Quentin that his previous  _ friend  _ was dead. Quentin had been so touchy, since then. He never talked about how bad it was, what the gods had done, anymore. It was like he didn’t understand at all.

 

“This is taking too  _ long _ . Why aren’t you much  _ better  _ at this?”

 

The table was cold against The Body’s cheek as he made it speak. The cold felt good. He had given The Body whiskey, after the powder-- just a little, so that the powder wouldn’t make the words come out too fast and Quentin would notice. The Body’s face was hot now. 

 

Quentin yanked the boring book out from under The Body’s arm. “Maybe it wouldn’t be taking so long if--”

 

“ _ Hey _ ! Maybe you’d like to get a snack or something, while Q and I finish up this boring part?” That was Julia. Yuuulia. “Remember, we talked about how it’s important to eat and drink water sometimes?”

 

Julia was his favorite other than Quentin. She tried to help. But she was weak and pitiful and didn’t understand anything (like Quentin), but without being his best friend (like Quentin), so he only liked her a little. He had thought about cracking her chest open the first time he saw her, because of the not-human-something inside her, but there wasn’t enough power left in her to contain anything important enough to be  _ his _ . And probably it would have made Quentin angry. 

 

Quentin made things so  _ difficult _ . 

 

Speaking of which.

 

“Snacks are  _ boring _ . All of this is  _ boring _ .”

 

“What about some water?”

 

He made The Body’s long legs kick against the floor. “I don’t need  _ water _ . I drank all the whiskey, instead. I put it in a glass like you said to.”

 

Quentin’s chair made a long, whiny scrape as he pushed himself back, back, back. 

 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ .”

 

Oh, right. Oops. He wasn’t going to tell Quentin that part.  _ Whiskey _ . So tricksy that way. 

 

“ _ Q _ .” 

 

Julia was giving Quentin her stern voice, but Quentin was still shaking his head and making his eyebrows go high up on his vulnerable skull. 

 

“It’s just  _ booze _ , okay? Pick your battles, remember?”

 

Julia was right. It  _ was _ just booze. And the powder. And the other little pills that Quentin hadn’t found hidden when he threw all of the interesting things away, because they were hidden behind the woman-things in the little drawer in the bathroom-- but only one of those because he was being more careful, and then he ate a vitamin to help The Body, right after. It was squishy and good and shaped like a strawberry. 

 

“Jesus, it’s not even ten AM.”

 

“Q, come on. Please. Let’s just--”

 

“Yes. Please, Quentin. Let’s. Just.”

 

Quentin looked right over that time, and that was good. But then he made his jaw go very tight and looked down again, and that was not as good. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again and said, “You  _ promised _ \--”

 

“ _ I  _ promised that I would do better at keeping the meatsuit in one alive piece. This is doing better.”

 

“Well, it’s not good enough!”

 

Quentin pushed the floppy pieces of his hair back with his hands and then kept the hands locked around the back of his neck where it was so easy to  _ squeeze  _ when he was being difficult like this. Miserable. Like a bird after it got crushed inside a fist, which didn’t make any sense because they were friends and they were  _ together _ and the gods hadn’t taken anything from  _ him _ , so what did he have to be so upset about. 

 

“Why. Do. You.  _ Care _ .” 

 

Quentin rolled his eyes. Still not looking at him.  _ Infuriating _ . “I told you, I just--”

 

Ugh. Frustrating. The Body’s previous  _ owner  _ must have hated when Quentin got like this. It liked the pills as much as he did. It must also have wanted to raise its hand and send all the books flying across the room, and maybe Quentin, too, so that Quentin would stop  _ caring  _ so much about all the wrong things.

 

Oh, but wait. 

 

Wait. 

 

That was wrong.  _ This  _ was _ new _ . Quentin was being  _ new _ .

 

He furrowed The Body’s eyebrows, as The Body’s memory flickered through its brain. “But you. . .  _ didn’t _ ,” he said to Quentin. “ _ Care _ . About the pills and the drinking and the hurting The Body. Before.” 

 

The Body’s mouth curled up, because he was right and Quentin would see.

 

Quentin didn’t notice, though, because he still wasn’t _ looking. _ “That’s because you told me that Eliot was--”

 

Ugh-- that  _ name _ . Also, ugh-- Quentin. So limited. He didn’t  _ understand _ .

 

“Not  _ then _ -before,” he tried to make Quentin see. “ _ Before _ -before.”

 

Quentin still didn’t understand. 

 

_ Ugh  _ again. He didn’t like this. It was bad enough when The Body’s memories bubbled up out of nowhere and floated away, leaving only the  _ feeling  _ of wanting caramel and not vanilla or caring so much about the sun hitting Quentin’s hair. To have to  _ poke around  _ in them, on purpose? Where  _ he  _ was? To look through all the boring, stupid things there-- so boring and weak and not as good at all, just a weak boring  _ person _ with his  _ gun _ (as if  _ that  _ would work)? It was horrific. But Quentin wasn’t  _ understanding _ , wasn’t paying  _ attention _ , so he  _ had  _ to. He had to look more closely, past the boring pictures, to the words and the thinking underneath so that he could tell Quentin the story and make Quentin  _ realize _ .

 

“ _ Mmm _ ike-before,” he said, finally, putting a name to the yellow-haired picture in The Body’s mind. Huh. M’s were strange. 

 

But-- oh. Quentin looked  _ up _ .

 

“ _ Mm _ ike--” Better. Less M. “-- died and  _ Eliot _ \--” it even  _ tasted  _ bad, like the squishy vitamin that was shaped like an orange-- “was so sad and he drank and he took pills, lots more pills, and you. Didn’t. Care.” 

 

Quentin’s eyes went very narrow and very dark. His little human heart paused, and for a second The Body panicked, but then the beating started again, adrenaline-faster.

 

“That was different,” Quentin said. He said it in the serious way that he only used when it  _ wasn’t  _ different at all, though. Like when he said it was a  _ mistake  _ how Eliot-- _ ugh _ \--tried to kill him.

 

“Q,” Julia said, again. She was looking now, too. That was not as important, but he appreciated it. 

 

There had to be more in the stupid memories, more he could . . .  Oh. Yes. There it was. 

 

“Eliot killed Mike,” he explained, “and it made him . . . sad, and that was stupid, but he didn’t regret it, not really, because he saved  _ you _ , Quentin, and the others. But it meant he was a killer again, and so he took all the things until he was useless and thought that he would die. And you didn’t try to stop  _ him _ at all.” 

 

Quentin’s eyebrows went in together but down at the edges and his mouth fell open and his eyes went very shiny. If the choking had lasted longer, the other night, he would have looked just like this. It was  _ good _ . He was still  _ looking _ . He would see now.

 

But then Julia grabbed Quentin’s arm and Quentin looked away-- _ stupid  _ Julia, he  _ hated  _ her--and she said, “ _ Q _ , focus.”

 

She stopped and looked over, carefully, again, and then looked back at Quentin. “How. Does. He.  _ Know _ . That.”

 

She said every word separately and very quietly and Quentin just  _ stared  _ at  _ her _ \-- which wasn’t fair, but  _ then _ . 

 

_ Then _ .

 

Nevermind, he  _ loved  _ Julia. Julia was the wisest and the best. Because after she said the quiet words to Quentin and Quentin stared, he turned back. And looked. And  _ looked  _ more than he had ever looked before, and it was  _ glorious _ . The way it should always be.

 

“I need you to answer a question for me, okay?” Quentin’s voice was nervous and wibbly again, like when it was just the two of them, killing Enyalius’s servant and the piggy, and they were happy. “Can you--” He paused. Licked his lips. “Can you see Eliot’s memories?”

 

_ Eliot  _ again.  _ UgghGh _ .

 

“Of course I can,” he snapped. 

 

He didn’t  _ bother _ , mostly, because there was nothing in Worthless Eliot’s memories to see except Quentin, and Quentin was right here. But they were always _ there _ , annoying him. And he  _ could _ . He could do anything he wanted. Worthless Eliot couldn’t possibly keep them  _ hidden _ . Not from something like him. That was obvious.

 

But it was not obvious to Quentin, because he collapsed back in his chair like his spine had been pulled out through the top of his neck. “Oh my God,” he kept moaning quietly. “Oh my God.”

 

“Q,” Julia was saying, again. “We should talk about this later--”

 

“Was it even him, Jules? I thought-- was it all just--”

 

“ _ Q _ .  _ Later _ .” She tapped the open book in front of Quentin. “ _ Here _ . Focus on this.” She looked over and smiled with her eyes too wide. “We’re supposed to be helping now, right?”

 

Quentin curled both hands around the edge of the book. But he was only looking at the air, not the words he was supposed to know how to translate. 

 

Maybe Quentin was taking the pills, too.

 

Quentin looked at the air some more, and Julia looked at the book, and none of them said anything, and, oh, it would take  _ forever _ like this. He remembered that he was bored, again, now that Quentin was broken in his brain and not paying attention again. 

 

He thought about taking a book from the pile, but he hated books. He thought about a pudding cup. There was a butterscotch one he wanted at a bodega in a place called  _ Anaheim _ , but if he went away to get it now, Quentin and Julia would start chattering again and not  _ helping _ .

 

So he turned to the only thing that was left, since he said no more alcohol or pills or powder until later, and started rifling through Worthless Eliot’s memories, again.

 

Boring.

 

Boring. 

 

Boring.

 

Oh.

 

_ Not  _ boring.

 

_ Interesting _ .

 

“There was someone else in that body, also.”

 

Quentin and Julia both looked up, then at each other.

 

“Sorry, um.” Oh, Julia. So polite. “What body, exactly?”

 

“In the body that Eliot--” Better that time, but still sour. “--killed. Mike. There was something else using Mike’s body. But Eliot--” 

 

_ Oh _ . 

 

“-- didn’t mind. He  _ liked  _ it.” 

 

He liked it in the  _ bodies  _ way. The way that The Body liked Quentin and Quentin liked The Body, sometimes, but pretended that he didn’t.

 

_ OhhHhh _ .

 

He slipped forward in the chair and now he was close enough for The Body to feel Quentin and for Quentin to feel The Body, close enough for the long edges of its sweater to fall against Quentin’s jeans. 

 

“Should I have done it that way?” he asked.

 

Quentin’s hand made a claw shape around the edge of the book. “What way?”

 

His eyes were pinched and forward-looking. He had looked that way before, The Body remembered. In a room with too many flowers and empty thrones, a letter in his hand. Just like then, he was playing the game where he wouldn’t  _ look _ .

 

He would, though.

 

“The way where the someone using Mike’s body told Eliot he was beautiful and kissed him and Eliot liked him back because he was so sad that no one else loved him,” he told Quentin. “Just like you’re so sad that Eliot doesn’t love  _ you _ .”

 

Julia was holding a thick yellow marker and it fell on the table. Bonk. 

 

Quentin closed his eyes. 

 

“I could do that for  _ you _ , Quentin.”

 

“Hey!”  _ Julia  _ again. Too bright. Too loud. Not useful now. “I think I found something really, really helpful. Look--”

 

She leaned in with a book open but he wiggled The Body’s fingers and the book flew across the room. Julia froze with her fingers still cupping the empty air.

 

And Quentin--

 

One of The Body’s hands moved to touch Quentin’s, where it gripped the edge of the book. Quentin’s hand was shaking. 

 

There was  _ so much  _ in Worthless Eliot’s memories that could help him  _ now _ . Eliot had left all the Quentin parts neatly folded, right on top. 

 

“Don’t be scared, Quentin,” he said, making The Body’s voice quieter and low. 

 

No. That wasn’t right.

 

“ _ Q _ ,” he tried again, long on the ‘oo,’ like in the memories.

 

“Don’t,” Quentin whispered. He was so much more scared now than when the weak little bones of his neck had almost shattered. He was so  _ aware _ .

 

It was  _ delicious _ .

 

“We can do it this way instead,  _ Q _ . It will be . . . fun. You’ll see. I’ll be so much better at it than  _ him _ .”

 

Quentin--Q--laughed. Sad. Watery.

 

“I’ll--” He paused. Flipped through some more. And oh, yes.  _ There  _ they were. Those were the words he needed. “--  _ choose  _ you. Q.”

 

Quentin’s whole little body shuddered. Excellent.

 

“I . . . love you. Q. Peaches and--”

 

“ _ Stop it _ !” 

 

Quentin jumped back from the table so fast his chair fell over. He fell with it. Oh, Quentin. So silly. So _ pathetic. _

 

“Just-- stop it.” He clambered to his feet and stood so far way and his hand was out like the lion tamer at the circus in Shanghai, whose blood had been so very red. 

 

But he wasn’t looking  _ anywhere _ else anymore. 

 

The monster smiled.

 

“I’m-- I-- I need to go lie down,” Quentin-Q was saying. “I just need to lie down. By myself. Can I do that? Can I just go be by myself for a couple hours?”

 

His hands were still shaking.

 

The monster nodded. He was a very considerate friend.

 

“Yes, Quentin. You should take a nap. You look tired. Yulia and I will finish with this.”

 

Quentin looked between the two of them, but only a little bit at Julia, really. Mostly he just  _ looked _ . He didn’t move or breathe, even. But then at last he sighed and turned to walk down the hall toward the bedrooms. 

 

A door slammed very hard.

 

Julia flinched when the door slammed, and then again when something shattered against a wall. Then another something, and another.

 

“I should go--” she began to say, but the monster shook The Body’s head.

 

“He’s just breaking things until he feels better.  _ I  _ taught him that.”

 

Another something shattered and Julia’s eyes went slimier than usual. Wet. 

 

Oh. Tears.

 

So foolish.

 

Didn’t she know they were only at the very beginning?

 

“Don’t worry, Julia. He won’t have to break things and be sad soon,” the monster told her. “He’s going to be in love with  _ me  _ now. Everything will be much better.” 

 

Julia nodded and she looked at him, but not the way he liked this time. She looked at him like Quentin had that day when they met in the park and Quentin had a big, black stain on his shirt and had given him Iris. Like there was . . . something . . . standing just . . . behind him . . . that they were looking at instead.

 

Something else smashed in Quentin’s room, something bigger and with more pieces and they could both hear Quentin doing his  _ not _ -crying, like he did sometimes at night when the monster poked him and woke him up and for a moment he was smiling and confused and then his face went dark and cloudy again.

 

“ _ In love _ ,” Julia repeated to the thing she saw standing just behind him. “Right.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A more detailed warning about The Monster's attempts to prey on Quentin's feelings: The Monster initiates uninvited physical contact in the form of canon-consistent close-talking and placing a hand on a hand. There is no other non-consensual contact, and no consensual contact at all.


End file.
